


look at that body (i work out)

by mwestbelle



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Gym Sex, Kink Meme, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-15 20:49:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9256550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mwestbelle/pseuds/mwestbelle
Summary: An unfinished kink meme fill in which Bane is Blake's personal trainer





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anoneknewmoose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anoneknewmoose/gifts).



> anoneknewmoose insisted I put this on AO3 so she could reread it, so here it is! This is a stream-of-consciousness, written in the comment box kink meme fill from 2012 so...read with that in mind.

The first time Blake sees him, he thinks that maybe part of the way through his tour of the gym, somewhere between the locker rooms and a very enthusiastic spinning class, he stepped into a movie set. Or maybe a nightmare. The guy is fucking massive, huge in a way that would be inconceivable if he wasn't looking right at him. He's a solid wall of muscle, but not in the showy way that bodybuilders are. Even standing there next to the machines, massive arms folded over massive chest, it's obvious that there isn't a single thing on this guy's body that's for show. He's the real deal.  
  
"And that is Bane," says Miranda, as though she was pointing out something totally normal, like a fern or a guy named Frank.  
  
" _Bane_?"   
  
"Yes." Miranda is cheerfully unflappable, and though Blake has only known her since he walked through the doors of the Fitness League twenty minutes ago, he gets the feeling that's pretty much SOP with her. In the course of that twenty minutes, he's learned that though she was working the desk when he came in, she's just filling in for the usual receptionist who is out today with a sick cat. She's general manager and also teaches yoga six times a week. She's very friendly. "He is our top personal trainer. Gets very good results."  
  
"I bet he does."  
  
Bane looms over his current client, who's struggling with his machine. Blake can see Bane's lips moving, but he can't hear anything, even from a dozen feet away - it's weird, he would have guessed a guy that looked like that would be the type who can only speak in testosterone-filled shouts. Whatever he's saying, the guy on the machine manages to do another rep before his arm drop to his sides while he rests.  
  
"You are interested in results, are you not?" Blake jumps a little - he'd almost forgotten that Miranda was standing next to him, which is a shock. He's not usually the type to forget a gorgeous woman right by his side. He looks back at her and nods and she beams at him. "Then you will join? I am not the best with the computer, but I know Bane's schedule. If you'd like to work with him."  
  
Blake does not want to work with him. The guy is obviously a fucking monster, a mountain of a man who barely even looks like he belongs in reality. But he's here because he's sick of getting teased in the locker room, pokes to his ribs, jibes about his "girlish figure." He's found tampons and Hello Kitty bandaids shoved in his locker before; cops think they're so fucking clever. He needs to toughen up and bulk up if he wants to be taken seriously on the force. And Bane...Bane is going to bulk him up.  
  
He smiles back at Miranda, finally looking away from Bane. "Yeah. Sign me up."

Blake knows himself; the last fucking thing he's gonna want to do after a long day at work is haul his ass to the gym. Maybe once he's transformed himself into a buff gymrat, but right now - no. So he makes his first appointment on his day off, early enough in the day that he can still do something fun and probably lazy after, like a little kid getting bribed with candy to go to the dentist.  
  
The locker room at Fitness League is nice, big and open, and it's empty when Blake gets in to change. He strips out of the jeans and button-down that he threw on this morning to change into shorts and an oversized t-shirt he got from last year's Gotham PD picnic. He's vaguely proud of himself for being a guy with a _gym bag_ who actually uses it to carry his gym clothes to the gym. That's the first step, right? He tucks his things into the locker that Miranda gave him the combo to when he signed up and spins the lock once it's closed.  
  
He feels less confident once he leaves the relative safety of the locker room and enters the gym. It's not crowded at this time of day, but there are still a few people who all seem to know exactly what they're doing. And, of course, there's Bane.  
  
It's impossible to miss Bane, because he's a monument to muscle. Blake's eyes go directly to him, even though he's all the way across the room, past the long line of treadmills and elliptical machines, off in the land of free weights. He looks at Bane's profile, the smooth curve of his shaved head and a neck that's probably thicker than one of Blake's thighs. Possibly both of his thighs.  
  
Bane turns his head just enough to look directly back at Blake and he jumps as though he's the star of a horror movie. Blake has dealt with a lot of criminals, including a lot of thugs, but Bane is in a class all to himself. Blake is pretty sure that Bane could literally break him in half. But Bane twists his mouth into a little smile, and nods to Blake all classy, like the old guys on the force always do.  
  
He's here to work out, not to stare, so he crosses quickly and holds out his hand. "John Blake."  
  
Bane takes his hand delicately, barely squeezing. Blake can't imagine being that strong, to have to live your life that carefully to avoid breaking things. Maybe once he was done with his training sessions. "It's a pleasure, Mr. Blake."  
  
Blake is briefly taken aback by his voice; Bane is strangely softspoken, with an intriguing hint of an accent. Out of a line-up, he would never pair the voice to the man. "Nice to meet you too, uh. Mr. Bane?"  
  
Bane smiles a little, again. Blake gets the sense that he's amused. "Just Bane."  
  
"Right."  
  
"I understand that you seek discipline, Mr. Blake."  
  
"Not...exactly?" Blake frowns a little, not quite sure if he's being made fun of. "Mostly I seek muscles?"  
  
Bane chuckles and it's really kind of alarming. "Indeed. You desire strength. Power, over your body and over your fellows. But these things do not come easily. These are the fruits of discipline, of devotion. Are you ready to devote yourself to your ideal?"  
  
Blake blinks. "I thought I was joining a gym, not a cult."  
  
Once the words are out of his mouth, Blake remembers the _literally break you in half_ thing and wishes he'd just kept it shut. But thankfully, Bane laughs again and claps one massive hand on Blake's shoulder. The strength present just in that passive weight is insane. Terrifying. Weirdly arousing? "You will learn, Mr. Blake. Robin."  
  
"Robin's just on my license," Blake protests. "I prefer John. My name is John."  
  
"A name is a powerful thing," Bane rumbles. "You should be more prudent in discarding one."  
  
"I'll...keep that in mind." This is really way more cultish than Blake knew he was signing up for, but he already put down a deposit and the guy _is_ a walking god, so. "What's up first? Benchpress?"  
  
"All in good time, Mr. Blake." Bane pats his shoulder once more before removing his hand. The space it vacated feels oddly cool. "First, I must know you."  
  
Blake shivered and rubbed his arm. "Oh, goody."

It turns out that "knowing" him involves a pretty extensive medical history of any pre-existing injuries and conditions (even a broken wrist falling off the bleachers in middle school), a rundown of his current workout routine (weights with some guys from the force when he feels like it and chasing after suspects, mostly), and a scale.  
  
"Remove your shirt."  
  
"What?" Blake frowns down at the scale, then back up at Bane. "Why? No."  
  
The scale is against one of the pillars in the gym. On one of the other sides is a height chart, which they've already used (5'10"). They're right out in the middle of everything, and even though Blake knows that no one gives a single shit about him, he still feels uncomfortably exposed.  
  
"It is a baseline." Bane is holding a clipboard with Blake's form on it and it looks positively hilarious in his massive hands. He's been making notes of Blake's background with fastidiously neat handwriting. "To know how far you have journeyed, you must know where you began."  
  
"Yeah, sure. I don't have to be shirtless for that." Blake wrinkles his nose. "I don't even have to do that at the doctor."  
  
"A physician has different interests. Your health is not at stake here."  
  
"I think most people agree that going to the gym is good for your health."  
  
"But that is not your purpose, Mr. Blake." Bane is so fucking serious about everything, but still almost jovial in his tone. He sort of reminds Blake of a Bond villain. "Blinding yourself with false idols will only prevent you from seeing your prize before you."  
  
Nobody _talks_ like that. Blake huffs out a breath and looks around. Everyone is working out, which makes sense since they're at the gym. No one is watching him.  
  
No one but Bane.

He has no reason to be embarrassed to take his shirt off in front of Bane. He's paying for this; Bane works for _him_. He doesn't care what Bane thinks of him, even if Bane is some kind of inhuman Adonis, the kind of guy that _no one_ would ever dare fuck with, the kind of guy Blake is here to become. No, why should he care?  
  
Blake's always been the sort to rip a bandaid off (if he even put one on in the first place), so he tugs his shirt up and over his head in a single movement, holding it defiantly at his hip instead of in front of his stomach like he wants to. He's not going to hide; he isn't _scrawny_ anymore, not really. He is a cop, he's got some muscle tone, he's wiry. But compared to Bane he's practically a bendy straw. He's painfully aware of how pale he is, the lack of definition in his chest and skinny arms. The smattering of dark hair that leads from his navel down into his workout shorts is on a concave belly, lean, but definitely no six-pack to be seen. The tips of his ears turn pink.  
  
Bane says nothing, just nods to the scale. Blake leans over to set his shirt on the bench of an unoccupied machine, steps past him and up onto the scale. Bane's thick fingers slide the weight along the balance beam, and Blake watches as the beam dips down one way and then the next, wobbling until Bane achieves perfect balance.  
  
"One-hundred and sixty pounds." It sounds like a pronouncement, but Blake knows that's just in his head. Bane writes his weight down on the form, just as neatly as he had everyone else. Once he finishes writing, he keeps looking at the clipboard, long enough that Blake breaks a little.  
  
"Is that bad? I mean. Fuck." He runs his hand over his hair, and he sounds like a fucking chick, but he's always hated being too small, other kids thinking he wasn't tough because he was scrawny. "Is that okay? For a...baseline?"  
  
"It is nothing." Bane barely looks up from the sheet, just enough for their eyes to meet. "It is simply truth. There is no value to it, it is what is."  
  
"Right. Yeah, of course." Blake licks his lips and steps off the scale. He suddenly feels lighter, which is exactly the opposite of what he wants. He leans over to grab his shirt and tugs it back on quickly. "So, what next? The sweating part?" He immediately regrets that choice of words.  
  
Luckily, Bane just smirks a little. "I think the sweating part should wait until next time. I will consider what I know of you, and I will create your training regimen."  
  
"Great. Thanks." His instinct is to offer his hand to shake again, but he doesn't really want to be touched right now. He ends up doing kind of an awkward wave and stepping away, back towards the locker room. "I'll see you on Tuesday, then."  
  
"Until Tuesday." Bane nods.  
  
Until Tuesday, indeed.

*

The thing is, Blake's spent a lot of time thinking about working out and getting ripped, but it always happened in a kind of 80s sports movie montage kind of way. Him sweating, pumping iron, probably grunting a little bit, hitting a punching bag (so he likes Rocky, okay?), until they reached the shot of him pulling off his shirt in the locker room and all the guys quietly acknowledging how fucking built he looked. _Whoa, Blake, what happened to you?_ one might say, and he would just nod, so cool, all _Yeah, whatever, I work out._  
  
Real life is nothing like a training montage. That first Tuesday was hell; he struggled through it, and he couldn't believe Bane wouldn't take it at least a little bit easy on him on his first day. And then he came back again and found out Bane _had_ been taking it easy on him. For once, Blake is grateful so much of his day involved sitting in a car and filling out paperwork; his muscles cry out for help every day. Sometimes, he thinks they won't be the only thing crying.  
  
"You disappoint me, Mr. Blake," Bane says. His voice is quiet as always, and Blake doesn't know how it's a hundred times worse than being shouted at, but it is. Blake is stretched out on the bench, struggling to lift the weight again. Bane is spotting him, a massive hand curled around the bar to keep it from crushing him, but only just. "Is this the extent of your will? Will you truly flail and fade on your back like some low creature?"  
  
"Are you calling me a turtle?" Blake wheezes. He inhales deeply through his nose and grunts, putting all his strength into his arms, benchpressing the heavy bar one more time. His arms wobble, ready to give out, and Bane catches the bar in one hand, putting it back in place. He's so _strong_ , and Blake suddenly realizes that Bane could easily benchpress _him_. Thankfully, he's too exhausted to get hard, but he definitely feels a warm pulse through his belly.  
  
Bane stares down at him with a faint quirk to his mouth. "It sounds less motivating when you say it like that."  
  
That's the other thing. Blake's spent a lot of time staring into Bane's face, glaring at him from above or smoothly murmuring vague abuse to him while he struggles, and it turns out that Bane is fucking gorgeous. Now that he knows, he has no idea how he didn't notice it from the beginning. It makes sense, he supposes; Bane wears his imposing stature like a mask. When you see him, you notice he's huge, maybe the shaved head, but mostly the huge thing. It's only once you can go past that, and really _look_ that you see his lush beautiful mouth, the shape of his jaw, and his _eyes_. Blake's spent a lot of time staring directly into Bane's eyes at his most intense, and they're so deep and soulful.  
  
Also, in case he hasn't mentioned it, Bane is fucking massive. Blake is aiming to bulk up, but he can't even imagine being that big. He wants to get a better idea though...he thinks that touching might help. Very extensive touching.  
  
"Have I lost you, Mr. Blake?" Bane arches his eyebrow and Blake flushes, struggling to sit up. The blood rushes back to his head when he rises, and he's dizzy for a minute. Way to go, Blake.  
  
"No, I'm good. I'm...alive. Barely."  
  
Bane claps his hand on Blake's shoulder, and he _knows_ how careful Bane is, which is how he knows that this firm slap hurts on purpose. He winces and Bane laughs heartily. "You are soft, yet. You will become hard."  
  
Oh, he _would_ become hard, but hopefully not until he was in the safety of his own home. Jerking off in the Fitness League showers seemed ill-advised at best. Luckily he was usually sore enough that rinsing his hair after a workout was enough of a struggle.  
  
"Someday. Doesn't seem to be having much effect so far."  
  
Bane squeezes his shoulder this time, gently enough to be kind. "It is not a thing to be done easily. We all must dedicate ourselves if we wish to become something greater."  
  
"Did you do this?" Blake looks over at him. "Or were you just born like...that."  
  
"No man is born anything but a man, Mr. Blake." Bane is smiling, just a little. "Perhaps once you show me your dedication, I will tell you how I came to find mine."

*

As much as it feels like an uphill battle, Blake actually does start to see improvement. He feels stronger, more solid. He chases a perp almost ten blocks before tackling him, while his partner trails off wheezing halfway through. It's a good feeling.  
  
He hopes Bane is proud of him. It's a stupid thing to want, when Bane is just his trainer. He's Bane's _boss_ in a way, since he's the one paying for these sessions. Strangely enough, he never feels in charge around Bane.  
  
"You are becoming strong," Bane says when Blake tells him about the little successes of his week. He's stretching, getting ready for the pain - though he's starting to...not enjoy the pain, but savor it. He can feel the use behind it, and there's something addictive about the strain to his muscles.  
  
"Yeah, if only I was starting to look it." Blake pulls up out of his lunge and flexes one arm. He's starting to get some definition, but he doesn't look much different from when he started.  
  
Bane makes a low gravelly noise in his throat, the same disapproving noise he makes when Blake can't get out of a squat or drops a weight. "Appearance means little, Mr. Blake. Strength comes in many forms."  
  
"Oh, sure. That's easy for you to say, when you're the fucking Hulk." Blake rolls his eyes, looking back at Bane and it's...it isn't possible that Bane could be _blushing_ , is it?  
  
"I recognize the value of a...more subtle strength than my own." Bane actually sounds a little shy, halting when his speech is always so fluid, like great oration. He actually sort of sounds like a normal person, and Blake is ridiculously charmed.  
  
"Yeah? That's sweet."  
  
Bane snorts at that, looking sideways at him. "That is not a word many have used to describe me."  
  
"Why, because you smash them?" Blake snickers at his own joke and sits down on the floor to keep stretching his legs, bending along his leg to hold his foot, feeling the burn in his calf. "I'm not scared of you."  
  
"Good." Bane stares down at him. Seeing him from the ground, he looks about the size of a building, but he's smiling a little bit in a way that makes Blake's chest do funny things. "I...would not want that."  
  
It feels like...something. There's definitely a little pulse that passes between them, a kind of understanding, and it buoys Blake up through the whole workout. He pushes hard, addicted to the praise, wanting to show Bane what he can do. Bane is definitely watching him, and not in a personal trainer kind of way. He's _watching_ , even smiling, and it makes Blake feel like a kid with a crush. _He likes me._  
  
After the session, Blake practically jogs back to the locker room despite the burn in his muscles. He has to shower, isn't about to ask a guy out (even a trainer) while he's sweaty and reeks, and it gives him a few minutes to breathe, to plan. It's been so long since he's asked anyone out, much less a Greek god. He gets dressed and takes a second to fix his hair in the mirror, give himself a thumbs up. He can do this.  
  
Blake slings his gym bag over his shoulder and heads back out to the gym floor, looking for Bane. It's usually not a difficult task - he tend to pull the eye - but he can't find him.  
  
 _Damn it._ Blake frowns and scans the room again, just in case he somehow missed him. _You were just here a minute ago._  
  
As far as he knows, he's Bane's only client on Tuesday mornings, so maybe Bane is back doing paperwork or whatever personal trainers do when they aren't training. If he waits until next time, he's going to lose his nerve, so he heads towards the offices in the back of the gym. He glances in the first door and finds Bane.  
  
He also finds Miranda. She's on Bane's lap, curled up against his chest with their foreheads pressed together, moments from a kiss. Blake feels his stomach plummet like its dropping through ice. He turns and walks, robotic, and doesn't think until he hits the street. He breathes in city air, filled with exhaust, and he feels so stupid. How could he have misread things so badly? Bane is an anomaly, sure, he's not like other guys but...Blake didn't think his instincts could be that off. Apparently he was wrong.

Blake skips his next session. He just needs to take some time to lick his wounds, and maybe he still has that angry kid desire to act out and hopefully someone will notice him. It's a stupid way to react, he knows that, and he reminds himself that he's _paying_ for this. He's not punishing Bane by not showing up; all he's doing is throwing money away and stalling himself in his goal. He's there to get buff, not to hook up. The next week, he resolves to go back and give it his all.   
  
It goes horribly. He's a mess, dropping weights and struggling with the basic exercises. It's not because he skipped a week - although that doesn't help. The _vibe_ is off, and he can feel Bane getting frustrated at him. Part of him feels a little satisfied when he swears, letting the weights fall back down with a clatter, and he hears Bane's breathy grunt of displeasure.  
  
"You are like a child." Bane huffs out a breath through his nose. Blake imagines he can see smoke curling out of his nostrils, like an angry dragon. "Weak and helpless. What is wrong with you?"  
  
Blake has _never_ been helpless, not even as a child. He never had a fucking choice, and he bristles. "Fuck you."  
  
Bane stares him down. "I'm disappointed in you."  
  
"You don't have the fucking right." Blake gets up off the bench, and he knows half of this is jealousy, half misplaced anger at shitty foster parents past, but he doesn't care. "You're just a _trainer_ , you don't give a damn about me and you sure as hell don't get to make judgments about my life."  
  
He stomps off towards the locker room without giving Bane a chance to respond. There's obviously no point in trying to keep working out today; it's not happening, and he's wondering if he should switch gyms entirely. Maybe he's a brat, but he can't help but be on edge around Bane.  
  
The locker room is blissfully empty, and he pulls his sweaty shirt off over his head, tossing it in the general direction of the bench while he kicks off his shoes and shoves his shorts and boxers down. He leaves them pooled on top of his shoes and heads for the showers, turning the water up nearly as hot as it goes. The spray is cold when it hits him, shocking his system, but it heats up quickly until it makes his skin tingle. He closes his eyes and breathes in the steam, trying to unclench, let the knot in his stomach unwind.  
  
He hears the door to the locker room open, but he doesn't care. He's pretty much used to the casual nudity in a shared space like this by now. He doesn't really think about the fact that the footsteps are heavy enough on the tile that he can clearly hear them over the sound of the spray until he feels _something_ is behind him, a shiver that goes all the way up his spine. He whips around just as Bane slams a massive hand against the wall of the shower, blocking him in. Bane is still dressed, massive and hulking over Blake, who's fucking _naked_ and vulnerable.  
  
"Jesus Christ, what the hell are you doing?" He tries to edge away, but Bane just moves closer into the spray, crowding him. Bane doesn't seem to care at all that his dark tank top is getting soaked, slowly molding itself against his giant pecs, the solid width of his abdomen.  
  
"You've changed." Bane is scrutinizing him so closely, eyes never leaving his face. "Something within you has changed. Why?"  
  
"This is not the time for a heart-to-heart." Blake is pale and naked and dripping, with his ginormous personal trainer hulking over him, and it is _really_ not the time to be getting turned on either, but that isn't stopping his dick from making its appreciation known. Apparently, it didn't get the memo that Blake is pissed at Bane, who is straight anyway.  
  
"Why not? You have bared your body." Bane nods vaguely towards Blake's form, causing a faint incredulous blush to rise in his cheeks. "Why not bare your soul as well? There is no barrier. Ah. Or is it that you feel unbalanced, while I am still clothed?"

"No," Blake says. "No no no no--" But it doesn't do any good. Bane is already peeling his tank top off his body, letting it drop to the floor with a wet slap. Even though it seems like he's already seen most of it, the reality of seeing Bane shirtless in the flesh is even better. In the realm of beefcake, he's a fucking prime rib roast, the fancy kind that the Wayne family probably serves at Christmastime. His shoulders are unbelievably huge, which Blake knew, and his pecs are home to small, dark nipples, which he didn't. It's almost too much to take in, visually, way too overstimulating for Blake's traitorous and confused dick.  
  
Then Bane pushes his shorts off.  
  
His thighs could crush a man a lot bigger than Blake. He's just honestly an all-around powerhouse, everything Blake has ever wanted to be. And his dick...his dick...  
  
"You're _naked_. Oh my god." Blake looks up at the ceiling, trying so hard to keep his eyes from jerking back down.  
  
"You were uncomfortable." Bane sounds as infuriatingly calm as ever, and Blake is sure he's got his hands on his chest, like how he sometimes holds onto the straps of his tanktop some fancy politician holding the collar of his suit. He's not going to look and find out. "What has changed?"  
  
"Nothing." Blake squeezes his eyes shut. The water is still hot on his back, steam making his head feel foggy. It's definitely the steam. "Nothing, and now you're naked. We're naked. And you're dating Miranda, oh my god, I am never getting my deposit back."  
  
There's a long silence before Bane speaks again. He sounds a little confused, and a little like an actual normal guy. "You think I'm dating...Miranda?"  
  
Blake has to open his eyes then, but he keeps them trained on Bane's face. "I know you are. I saw you." It's a miracle his voice doesn't shake at all, but apparently he's adaptable. Even to awkward naked shower confrontations.  
  
"You saw...I cannot say what you saw." Bane frowns a little at him. "But it is not what you believe."  
  
"So you were just making out for funsies?" Blake snorts. "Sorry, I haven't bought that one in a long time."  
  
"There was no making out," Bane says seriously. "We...there is a connection between her and I. But it is not a romantic one."  
  
Blake lets that sink in, for a moment. It's quiet, except for the drumming of water against the tile. "Really?"  
  
"She is--" Bane frowns a little, and there's a twist to his gorgeous mouth that reminds Blake of that tiny hint of shyness he saw the other. "She is...not my type."  
  
The words coming out of _Bane_ , in his sonorous voice, nearly make Blake bust out laughing. But the meaning behind them makes his stomach flip over. "No? What's your type, then?"  
  
Bane smirks down at him, a slow curl of his lips, and his eyes are alight with purpose. "You."

"Me?" Blake is going to pretend his voice didn't squeak in an embarrassingly pubescent fashion on that. "You're not fucking with me?"  
  
Bane makes a leonine rumbling noise deep in his chest - oh _god_ , his chest - and lifts a massive hand to curl so very carefully around Blake's jaw. "You are amazing. You look delicate, but there is so much strength in you. No one would suspect the depth of your fire."  
  
"I...oh." Blake's lashes flutter a little, and he leans into Bane's hand. "That's a good answer."  
  
"Indeed." Bane gives him a onceover, slow and filthy. When he makes his lazy way back to meeting Blake's eyes, he quirks an eyebrow. "May I?"  
  
"Yes," Blake says, with no idea what the question actually was. "God, yes."  
  
In one fluid motion, Bane steps into his space and picks him up by the hips, pressing him back against the shower wall. Blake gasps and arches his back instinctively, shoulders pushing harder against the tile; the movement pushes his hips down and suddenly Bane's dick is in his ass.  
  
Not _in_ his ass, thankfully, because oh god a surprise insertion of that thing would definitely put an end to the good times, but nestled snugly between his cheeks. It's still a pretty intense feeling; Bane's dick (which he obviously got a look at earlier, what the hell, he isn't made of stone) is monstrously huge, bigger than any cock he's seen outside of porn and most of the porno ones too. He has both length and girth, and just the tease of that pressure is enough to make Blake shudder. Bane holds him in place and draws his own hips back, enough that the fat head of his cock catches at Blake's asshole.  
  
"Fuck," Blake whines. The sound reverberates in the shower, coming back to his ears sounding even more needy than when it left his lips, but he doesn't care. Bane holds him up like he's nothing, moves him as easily as a Barbie doll, though Blake hopes Bane's never used a Barbie doll like this. He maneuvers Blake's body, slides him up and down, so Bane's cock rides the cleft of his ass in the same smooth motion that Blake has to assume he uses when he's fucking for real.  
  
"So amazing," Bane murmurs. He keeps getting closer and closer, until he barely needs his hands to hold Blake up, could keep him pinned to the wall with just his chest. He pushes his face into Blake's wet hair, and his breath is so hot against Blake's ear and neck. His dick twitches against Bane's belly - it's like trying to grind against a brick wall. A brick wall that's covered with sinewy muscle and skin, and that would be a really gross wall but Bane is the sexiest fucking brick wall Blake has ever gotten off with.  
  
He is getting off too, just on this, Bane's immense power, the slide of his cock getting slicker and sweeter as precome joins the water from the shower, his body heat. Bane starts to pick up the pace, moves faster and faster until his hips are jerking hard and Blake can hear the skin-on-skin slap of his balls while he forces his cock against Blake's ass; in that instant, Blake can't stand it anymore.  
  
"Fuck me. Please, god, fuck me, Bane, I need to feel you for real."  
  
Bane chuckles darkly and doesn't even break rhythm. "Not now, Mr. Blake, you are...unprepared. You flatter my stamina."  
  
"Don't call me Mr. Blake while you're grinding off on me," Blake whines, bitterly disappointed and relieve at the same time. He really can't take it, not without a ton of prepwork, and now isn't exactly the time or place for that.  
  
"Fine," Bane says, fingertips digging into Blake's hips, enough to hurt, enough to let Blake know how close Bane is to losing control completely. Bane shudders and comes, a hot rush over Blake's lower back. " _Robin_."

Bane slumps a little, but he's still holding Blake up, still close enough that Blake can grind against his belly until he comes too, savoring the feeling of Bane's come running down his back, sliding down his crack to his thighs, as though he really did get fucked. And then it's all washed away by the spray of the shower, off down the drain.  
  
The water is starting to get cold, which means they've been in here a really long time. Too long, it doesn't make sense that no one has come in the locker room in all this time, but Blake can't bring himself to care.  
  
"I told you my name was John," he grumbles against Bane's beefy shoulder. He can feel the muscle twitch a little below the skin, the most minute version of a shrug.  
  
"I prefer Robin. Do you mind?"  
  
Blake has always hated the name Robin, ever since his mom died. He wrinkles his nose. "Nah. S'okay."

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr!](http://villainsexuale.tumblr.com)


End file.
